Son of the Morning
by white raven
Summary: That which is separated is not always forgotten. JarethSarah Story on hiatus. Please see author page for explanation.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: As with all fanfiction, these characters and this universe are the property of the creators and owners of Labyrinth. I am just borrowing them for a moment. No money has been, is being or will be made with the creation and publishing of this fanfiction, nor is any harm intended to the creators. 

A/N – I usually write in both the HP and LotR universes. Many thanks to the author, Scatteredlogic, for giving me the inspiration (delicious peeks into an upcoming work of hers) and impetus to start a Labyrinth fic.

white raven/whitemunin

**Son of the Morning**

_How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning! - Isaiah, 14:12 _

Chapter 1 - Prelude

With his arms braced on either side of her head and his scent inundating her nostrils, Sarah felt smothered by his presence. Overwhelmed by that otherworldly sensuality now mixed with equal parts of frustrated anger. His breath drifted in short pants over the top of her head and she watched the rapid beat of the pulse in his neck.

The weight of his stare pressed down on her but she kept her eyes lowered, locked on the waterfall of ruffles that cascaded down the center of his chest. The shirt was partially opened, revealing pale skin and the striation of pectoral muscles that rippled with his breathing.

She was tired of fighting him. For thirteen years they had jousted in her dreams, but always between them lay her words from the time within the Labyrinth. "_You have no power over me_." In this reality, they meant nothing, but in his they were everything. Jareth fed on power, lived by it. He was the Goblin King, monarch of a realm she had visited and briefly conquered.

He had not pursued her afterwards, but he made certain she never forgot him. As she grew older, her logic strove to stamp out his memory and his presence, but it was no use. It had been her salvation that she had been the age she was when she beat the Labyrinth and refused what Jareth offered.

"_Just fear me. Love me. Do as I say and I will be your slave."_

Her childish narcissism had not been capable of understanding his gesture, the meaning behind his words. But as a fully grown woman, their impact was profound, unclouded by time or distance. She did what she knew would surprise him, as it came of her own volition, and leaned forward, resting her forehead against his chest.

"Go away, Jareth." She whispered against the smooth cool skin exposed by the half open shirt.

They stood like that for the space of a moment before he answered, and his words floated above her, grim and resolute. "I cannot. I will not. So unfair, isn't it, Sarah?" And the mockery returned full force.

Sarah raised her head to gaze at him, taking no offense in his words, for she recognized his attempt to goad her. His sharp features were guarded and the oddly colored eyes glittered with the promise that he would remain locked in endless struggle with her until she finally gave in to him. A lock of his pale hair slid through her fingers, and her voice was soft with challenge and affection. "You are the most beautiful, vicious creature I have ever met."


	2. Threshold

Disclaimer: As with all fanfiction, these characters and this universe are the property of the creators and owners of Labyrinth. I am just borrowing them for a moment. No money has been, is being or will be made with the creation and publishing of this fanfiction, nor is any harm intended to the creators. 

**Son of the Morning**

_And all should cry, Beware! Beware! His flashing eyes, his floating hair! Weave a circle round him thrice – Kubla Khan (S.T. Coleridge)_

Chapter 2 - Threshold

It began on her twenty-eighth birthday. A normal day of familial celebration in the backyard beneath a summer sky. There was only a hint of a breeze drifting through the trees, carrying with it the sweet scent of honeysuckle. Sarah sat in the sun in her place of honor, wearing a silly cone shaped hat and an equally silly grin. The remains of a birthday cake and crumpled paper plates littered the picnic table, and she watched with patient humor as her brother Toby again serenaded her with the Happy Birthday song in a voice excruciatingly off-key.

"Don't quit your day job, Toby." She teased him with a smile and he flopped down next to her on the bench, dipping his finger into the mound of icing left on a discarded plate.

"Aww, come on, Sarah. I made it into the choir at school, you know. It can't be that bad."

Sarah hid a wince behind her nearly empty glass of lemonade. Oh yes it could, but she certainly wasn't going to tell him that. Toby was proud of his accomplishment and she would be just as proud for him. She drained the lemonade and handed the glass to him. He took it with a frown.

"I'm just teasing. I think you carry a tune just fine. Would you do me a favor and get me a refill? And bring out a trash bag. Since Dad and Karen are on the phone with your aunt, I'll go ahead and clear off the table."

Toby gave a long suffering sigh, but did as she asked, and she watched him lope into the house, all gangly knees and elbows with just a hint of adulthood spreading across his twelve-year old shoulders. She shook her head. Funny how the years seemed to travel a little faster as she grew older. Memories of Toby as a chubby, golden-haired child flitted across her mind's eye and she smiled as she began stacking the plates, plastic forks and crushed napkins into a neat pile.

She had just lifted the empty water pitcher when something made her stiffen and straighten. It was a prickling along the back of her neck, an instinctive warning mechanism that kicked into gear at the sensation of being watched. Sarah looked around her, eyes narrowed against the bright light of the afternoon sun. The swing on the old, abandoned playset, squeaked softly as it swung gently in the breeze and only the rustle of oak leaves broke the quiet of the yard.

That was it. The quiet. It was different, taking on a quality reminiscent of that silence before a storm hits, when the air is thick with ozone and electricity. But there were no threatening clouds to break the vast blue, only threatening feelings that made her want to edge toward the back door and the sanctuary of the house.

Her eyes were suddenly drawn by movement in the far corner of the yard and Sarah peered hard into the shadows cast by the dappled shade of a Japanese maple. She could discern nothing and mentally chastised herself for the unreasoning paranoia that had suddenly taken hold. Whatever had registered in the corner of her vision was probably no more sinister than the neighbor's cat out on his daily mission to stalk birds.

She turned away with a nervous laugh, only to gasp and whip around when that flicker of movement happened again. Only this time, it had shape and form, a tall, slender figure draped in the ethereal dark of a winter's night. It was there for only a second before disappearing again within the concealing cloak of maple shadows. But she had seen it. Had seen him. Knew him from the memories of a lonely teenage girl and the more recent restless dreams of an equally lonely woman. The pitcher slipped from her nerveless fingers to shatter at her feet in a cascade of broken glass.

"Sarah?"

The question was tentatively spoken and Sarah raised her eyes to her brother, unaware of the small rainbows dancing across her bloodless features. Rainbows caught within prisms of glass fragments, or crystal orbs caressed by gloved fingers.

"Sarah? Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

She blinked at Toby in slow fashion, hardly registering his concerned expression for the nearly unconquerable need to look back at the dark corner by the fence. Not a ghost, but a dream. A nightmare. A vision that had plagued her since she was a teenager, fading but never disappearing altogether as she grew older and took on the more cynical trappings of an adult woman.

Sarah knew her smile was half-hearted at best but it took all of her effort to give her brother that much reassurance. "I'm fine, kiddo," and she nearly sagged with relief that her voice sounded far more normal than her insides felt. "How about we just go inside for a minute? I need to run to the bathroom anyway."

Toby gave her a perplexed, faintly annoyed look. "Okay. But you could have gotten the trash bags yourself if you planned to go inside now."

She patted him on the shoulder as she passed and took one surreptitious glance at the now sinister Japanese maple. Nothing. No shadow. No slim, graceful form or fractured colors caught in spinning orbs. Only the breeze and the creak of a swing, and the sure knowledge that something alien and frighteningly familiar had breathed gently into the surrounding air.

The house was quiet save for the murmurings of voices as her father and stepmother carried on a conversation in the kitchen. Sarah passed them on silent feet, hoping to reach the bathroom without catching their attention. The ticking of the clock in the hall sounded thunderously loud in her ears and she wondered if she took a moment to stop and look at it, if there would be thirteen numbers, instead of twelve on its elegant face. The thought made her shudder and she walked swiftly into the guest bathroom, closing the door with a soft click.

She pressed her fingertips to her temple, massaging gently in a vain attempt to rub away the headache forming there and behind her eyes. It was a nagging pain, one that always made an appearance after she dreamed of a fae king. Only now, it plagued her while she was wide awake, a warning, and a more convincing sign than her own vision that she had not imagined what had captured her gaze while alone in the yard.

The oval mirror hanging above the lavatory revealed her features in less than flattering light and Sarah grimaced at her reflection. She had always been pale but now there was a grayish pallor to her skin and lines of anxiety that cut into her forehead.

Fear. She was afraid and it showed in her expression, the dilation of her pupils, the faint staccato rhythm of her breathing. For more than a decade, he had hovered on the boundaries of her consciousness, skating along the edge of her dreams but never quite interfering as he once had, as if he used time to nurse wounds, build strength, gather anger, declare war.

Sarah frowned at the path her thoughts were taking, trying in futile desperation to lock out her memories of the being who had, in his own unique and sometimes sinister way, shaped the woman she had become. She resented him for it for she had vanquished his greatest weapon. But he had persevered and never let her forget him.

For some time she had tried to convince herself he did not exist, that the Labyrinth and all of its denizens were simply creations of a well-developed imagination, but it had been useless, and in her more fevered dreams, the ones that escaped the bounds of her logic, he mocked her with those sly, narrowed eyes, promising her in a voice silky with malice that he was indeed real and that they would confront each other again.

"I don't suffer defeat lightly, Sarah. When it's time I will cry 'Havoc'."

Sarah had dreamed such words on her twenty-first birthday and their memory had left her sleepless for nearly two weeks afterwards.

She touched the mirror's face, feeling its cool surface slip beneath her fingertips. "There aren't any kids here to snatch now, Goblin King," she whispered, and her voice echoed oddly in the small bathroom. "There's only me, and I'm not a child anymore."

The mirror suddenly shifted beneath her fingers and she jerked her hand away with a frightened yelp. The glass continued to ripple, a single wave trapped within a gilded beach and Sarah watched as her features distorted with the movement, giving it a strange, funhouse appearance. She took a step back but didn't run, refusing to flee even when every gut instinct she possessed told her otherwise.

His voice flowed from the writhing silver, entwined itself around her, sending shivers down her arms in reaction. "I don't seek a child, only a woman who acts as one. Sweet dreams tonight, my Sarah."


	3. Gateway

Disclaimer: As with all fanfiction, these characters and this universe are the property of the creators and owners of Labyrinth. I am just borrowing them for a moment. No money has been, is being or will be made with the creation and publishing of this fanfiction, nor is any harm intended to the creators. 

A/N – I usually write in both the HP and LotR universes. Many thanks to the author, Scatteredlogic, for giving me the inspiration (delicious peeks into an upcoming work of hers) and impetus to start a Labyrinth fic.

white raven/whitemunin

**Son of the Morning**

_And all my days are trances And all my nightly dreams Are where thy gray eye glances, And where thy footstep gleams – In what ethereal dances, By what eternal streams. – To One in Paradise (E. A. Poe)_

Chapter 2 – Gateway

Sarah held her breath as she unlocked the door to her house and flipped the switch for the living room light, half expecting to see the Goblin King reclining in negligent repose on the couch. She blew out a sigh of relief when the light revealed nothing more than a pile of clean laundry waiting to be folded and the celebrity magazine she'd perused before going to her parents' house for her birthday party.

The fear shredding her nerves had subsided as she drove home, and was soon replaced with a burgeoning anger. "Leave me alone," she said aloud. Only silence answered her, a stillness in the air that waited for her to say more. Sarah shook off the unsettling feeling, tossed her purse on the coffee table and kicked off her shoes before collapsing on the couch next to the laundry.

She eyed the shoes, a sensible pair of close-toed sandals with scuff marks at the toe line. Dorothy had it made. A flashy pair of red shoes, a few taps of her heels and voila! Back home to safe and sound Kansas. No more walking soda cans, flying monkeys or wicked witches with the unfortunate skin problems. But Sarah wasn't so lucky as Dorothy. She didn't own a single pair of such flamboyant footwear. Besides, even if she did, and tried to use them to block out Jareth, he'd probably laugh in that snide, mocking way of his and ask if he might borrow them for one of his many fashion ensembles. His tastes ran to the eccentric to say the least.

And Oz had nothing on the Labyrinth. Goblins, talking worms, fairies who were nothing more than flying piranhas; all would have made Oz's cowardly lion piss himself. Despite her frustration, Sarah smiled. Thirteen years. It had been thirteen years ago that she conquered the Labyrinth and won Toby back from its king. And she had done it in a pair of tennis shoes. Who needed sparkly red heels anyway?

The smile fled as quickly as it appeared. Thirteen years, yes, but still not long enough to banish Jareth's image from her mind. He lingered in her memories, as handsome and malevolent as when she first saw him. As she aged, the Sarah who lived in daydreams and fantasies became the Sarah known for her practicality and no-nonsense view of things. It had been a defense, an internal war she waged against herself and the entity who refused to let well enough alone. He lurked on the edges of her dreams, often turning them and her girlhood fantasies into the fantasies of a woman. Sarah had lost count of the number of times she had awakened in her solitary bed, fevered with visions of him stroking her body, his long, pale limbs glistening with sweat as he spread her thighs to take her.

Such dreams left her shaken, aching with a need no other man had ever been able to assuage. The two serious relationships she was involved in had invariably failed, and she cursed Jareth as well as herself for always comparing others to the fey king and finding them lacking. He was narcissistic, sly and petty in his cruelties, and Sarah had never forgiven him for taking Toby and making her run the Labyrinth. But that time in the maze, when he bewitched her with a poisoned peach and lured her with promises of dreams fulfilled, had left its mark on her spirit. Once, she had told him "You have no power over me," and it had been true. To say it now would be a lie. He was real, alluring, frightening, sliding like shadow through her life, never letting her forget him or pretend he didn't exist. And this afternoon, he had thrown down the gauntlet.

_"I ask for so little."_

That statement, an echo from the past, whispered in her ear. Sarah leapt off the couch, her heart beating so hard it made her chest ache. She turned in a slow circle, scanning the empty room for some hint of his presence. Her reflection in the sliding glass doors caught her gaze. Beyond the glass, the backyard lay smothered in blackness, the light in the living room turning the doors to blurred mirrors. Sarah saw herself, wide-eyed and pale, poised for flight. And she was not alone.

Jareth stood behind her, still tall but not so looming a figure as he once was. She would have been eye level to him had she turned to face him. But she didn't turn, knowing that he wouldn't be there when she did. Only the reflection was real, her in her worn jeans and T-shirt, the Goblin King in silks and velvets, gimcrack beads and trousers that left little to the imagination. A knowing smile curved his mouth as he followed the direction of her gaze.

Sarah felt the heat of a blush to the roots of her hair and frowned at their reflections. "You are such a liar, Jareth," she said, bitterness making her voice flat.

His slanted brows rose, the oddly colored eyes narrowing at her insult. "Am I? How so? Everything I have ever told you has been a truth."

She was pleased to see her smile matched any of his in its scorn. "A truth. Not _the_ truth. God, but you can twist words into knots." A quick glance from the corner of her eye assured her his presence in her world was limited to the reflection. No corporeal form hovered behind her. Still, she felt him there, a breath of cool air and summer rain, the spicy scent of sacred incense. "You ask for so little. Bullshit. You ask for everything. Demand everything. I won thirteen years ago, Jareth. Why can't you leave it alone? Leave me alone?"

Jareth's haughty features sharpened with anger, and Sarah stiffened, her gaze locking with his as she watched the glass. "Because, the game isn't over, Sarah. You won Toby, but not the game." She gasped as he lowered his head to kiss the side of her neck, strands of silvery blond hair cascadingover her shoulder as he did. Sweet warmth caressed her skin, and again she glanced out of the corner of her eye to see no one behind her. "We are bound, you and I. I am in your dreams." His tongue darted out to taste her. _"I am in you in your dreams."_

Sarah couldn't suppress the small moan that escaped her lips. His touch upon her was as real as if hetruly was standing behind her, the power of his magic reaching beyond their reflections to send a charge of electricity through her body where it centered between her legs.

Jareth raised his head and met her gaze once more, his eyes hot with desire. "I share those dreams, Sarah. Did you think yourself alone in your pleasure of my touch?"

≠≠≠

Please review.


	4. Corridor

Disclaimer: As with all fanfiction, these characters and this universe are the property of the creators and owners of Labyrinth. I am just borrowing them for a moment. No money has been, is being or will be made with the creation and publishing of this fanfiction, nor is any harm intended to the creators. 

A/N – I usually write in both the HP and LotR universes. Many thanks to the author, Scatteredlogic, for giving me the inspiration (delicious peeks into an upcoming work of hers) and impetus to start a Labyrinth fic.

white raven/whitemunin

**Son of the Morning**

_The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve. Lovers, to bed; 'tis almost fairy time. – A Midsummer Night's Dream (W. Shakespeare)_

Chapter 3 – Corridor

His smile had been both superior and knowing before she marched to the glass doors and yanked the drapes closed, effectively blocking out their reflections. She knew better, but Sarah half expected Jareth to be standing in the room when she turned around once more. The prickly sensation racing along her arms remained, an instinctive awareness that his presence had been far more real than a mirror reflection in a dark glass.

She sighed in exasperation, mortified that her body had reacted so keenly to him. What did he want? What lure had brought him to the forefront of her life now, when before he seemed content to skate along the edges of her conscious, breathing gently into her hair only when she swam within the depths of dreams. He said it was to finish the game, though she couldn't begin to guess what game he referred to in his mocking hints. The Labyrinth had yielded Toby up to her, and Sarah had returned home, triumphant over the great Goblin King. But rulers never suffered defeat lightly, and she knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that Jareth was once more her adversary in another contest of his making. The problem was she knew neither the rules, nor the prize, nor, more importantly, the motivation. And as with everything involving the king of the Underground, those things were subject to change on the royal whim.

"I don't want to play, Jareth," she whispered to the empty room. "This was over between us a long time ago. Please, let it go."

The living room light dimmed for a moment, and Sarah sucked in a breath as a warm puff of air buffeted her face, an acknowledgement that somewhere, someone listened and scoffed at her plea. She waved a hand in front of her, as if to swat away a fly.

"Fine," she snapped. "We'll play it your way. You never did respond to polite requests anyway. Why would I think this time would be any different?" She muttered a few choice words under her breath as the faint echo of satisfied laughter teased her ear. The living room went dark as she turned out the lights and made her way to her bedroom.

It was a spartan room, devoid of any decoration beyond the required pieces of furniture – bed, dresser, and nightstand. No artwork framed the white walls, and the bed sported a comforter in drab shades of fading taupe. Some might have chalked up the room's sterile look to a complete lack of interest in home décor, until they compared it to the other spaces in Sarah's house. Lush and dressed in rich brocades in dark woods, the other rooms were a stark contrast to the bedroom, and Sarah's stepmother had commented more than once on the strangeness of it.

"Sarah, are you trying for some kind of post modern look in here?" She had looked around her with an expression both disapproving and uneasy, and didn't wait for an answer. "If you need help finishing the bedroom, I can call a friend of mine. Janet is a brilliant interior designer. I know she'd love to come in here and…"

"Don't." Sarah's interruption had been abrupt and final. "I like the room the way it is. It's peaceful." And in its way, it was, but not for the reasons, one might expect.

The other woman's brows shot up. "Peaceful? You're kidding. I feel like I should prep for surgery or sit for an interrogation." She glanced at the dresser and frowned. "Wasn't there a mirror with this dresser?" She didn't notice as Sarah's face whitened.

"Yeah, but I accidentally cracked it." That was a lie, but one she felt far more comfortable in telling her stepmother. The truth would send her running for her therapist's phone number. "I have it stored away until I can get it repaired."

Sarah refused the offer to have it fixed and quickly ushered her out the door before she offered any more help. Since then, the absentee mirror had remained a source of mild contention between them. Sarah had always considered her stepmother a little obsessive about things, a little too focused on the petty and unimportant. She had changed her opinion one afternoon after another brief argument over the mirror. She hadn't given her enough credit. The woman sensed something, something peculiar in Sarah's refusal to fix the mirror or replace it altogether. The more Sarah dug in her heels, the more the other pushed. Sarah's respect for and wariness of her stepmother increased after that, along with her resolve not to have a mirror in the bedroom.

How did she explain, without sounding completely off her rocker, that a mirror acted as a doorway, a link to a place and a man so fantastical that it was the stuff of dreams and childhood wishes, when innocence shielded you from the threatening power of shadows and the machinations of arrogant, fey kings?

The childish fantasies of her early teen years had faded, a result of both age and the need to erect some kind of defense against a tempting darkness. While Sarah no longer dreamed of fairytale princes and Cinderella-like girls, she still dreamed of Jareth, and those night visions were of a far more seductive quality. Earthy and alluring, they had little to do with noble declarations of love and admiration and more to do with whispered commands to bend and yield, love and take, accept and embrace.

"Damn it!" Sarah shook her head to rid herself of her thoughts. A quick glance at the clock on the nightstand let her know she'd stood by the bed, lost in a haze for a good five minutes. It was still early, but she was dead tired, as if Toby's leisurely birthday party had actually consisted of a bit of mountain climbing followed by a little cross-country skiing. Her muscles actually ached, and a sharp pain began knifing its way from the back of her skull toward the spot between her eyebrows.

"This is your fault, you sneaky bastard," she muttered, stalking into the bathroom to rummage through her medicine cabinet. The mirror in the bathroom revealed only her as its occupant, and Sarah frowned at the rush of relief coursing through her. "You have no power over me," she said, and shivered at the disbelief in her eyes. "Liar," drifted through her mind, and Sarah didn't know if that voice was Jareth's or hers.

She avoided gazing at her reflection after that and concentrated on finding the supply of sleep medicine she always kept on hand. It was her last resort and the only sure way of locking Jareth out of her mind when she was at her most vulnerable. The king of dreams held no sway when you didn't dream.

After taking the medicine, Sarah changed into a nightshirt, checked the locks on her doors, turned out the remaining lights and slid into bed, burrowing under the covers. Moonlight bled through the spaces between the curtains at her window, creating shadows that danced a silent ballet along her walls. She stared up at the ceiling, feeling her eyelids grow heavy. "Why can't I forget you?" she asked softly. Her eyes closed, and she sank into slumber. Outside, a zephyr wind played through the trees, dying briefly before picking back up once again and flowing through the cracks and spaces of doors and windows to swirl around Sarah's bed. She turned onto her side, unaware of the shifting air in the room, lost to the very thing she hoped to avoid with the medication.

The Labyrinth stretched out before her, still grand and far-reaching in its serpentine beauty, beneath a jaundiced sky. In the distance, a decrepit castle sat perched atop a knoll, surrounded by ramshackle houses. Sarah looked around her, disheartened to again find herself at the edge of the maze, this time barefoot and in a T-shirt that reached only mid-thigh. She pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger and closed her eyes. "Can you give it a rest for just one night, Jareth? I'm not even supposed to be dreaming this," she snapped.

"Who says you are dreaming?"

Sarah yelped, startled by a voice that sounding like sands slipping against the confines of an hourglass. She whirled around, backing up several steps at the sight before her. Whether the Labyrinth had changed, or her view of it and its denizens had, she couldn't say, but the goblins facing her now bore little resemblance to the puppet-like creatures she remembered from her first adventure here. These beings were still small, but far more feral looking, with wizened, feline faces that elongated into mouths filled with rows of sharp teeth. Their large, slanted eyes watched her with a predatory intelligence, tracking the twitch of every muscle, and she didn't want to imagine what they might do to her if she broke and ran for the Labyrinth's interior.

Despite their frightening appearance, the goblins held her attention for only a moment. It was the one in their midst who drew and held her gaze. Tall and elegant in an icy, forbidding way, the woman – no, man – no, woman stared at her with eyes that glowed white and endless with celestial fire and the dark ribbons of human nightmares. Sarah couldn't tell if the being was male or female, only that it was the most beautiful, yet repulsive person she'd ever seen. Dressed in robes of scarlet and silver, it was corpse-pale and thin to the point of emaciation. It raised a long, bony hand tipped with curved black nails and greeted her.

"Welcome back, Sarah." And its voice, both sibilant and coiling nearly made Sarah's hair stand on end. "We wondered when you would return."

The surrounding goblins chattered with half-mad laughter and repeated the greeting in a single screeching voice. "Welcome back, Sarah." Their laughter halted abruptly when their leader turned a blind gaze on them.

It took two hard swallows and some throat clearing before Sarah could speak. "What am I doing here? I must be dreaming, though I shouldn't be. I took the meds to make sure I didn't dream. Jareth's never been able to break through before." She frowned at her welcoming party, despite her fear. "He sent you, didn't he?"

The creature smiled, a faint twisting of wine-red lips, shocking in the dead, white face. "No. I do not answer to Jareth's summons, Sarah. We are one, yet two. He rules them," it swept a hand over the goblin crowd, "but not me. I am here on my behalf."

Sarah stared at the being, losing herself to its white gaze, seeing swirling images of intricate knots made of hedge and stone, a living entity of uncounted years and sheltering power. She broke the stare, breathing hard with the effort. "You're the Labyrinth."

It bowed its head briefly. "I am its avatar. And I am here to give you fair warning." The avatar's voice turned even more sinister, and Sarah shuddered. "We are one, yet two, the Goblin King and I. I am the body and the mind. He is the heart." As one, goblins, avatar and Sarah all turned to stare at the distant castle. "You have taken what does not rightfully belong to you, Sarah."

Sarah's eyes widened. "No! Toby never belonged here. That was my fault. A stupid wish from a stupid, immature girl."

The avatar shook its head. "I do not speak of your brother. You won him from us fairly. No, Sarah. Remember your words. They have power here, as you well know. Revoke them, and give back to us that which cannot be yours…unless you desert all you hold dear."

The air thickened even as the ground rippled beneath Sarah's feet, and the scent of a coming storm hung heavy around them. She stared at the avatar in confusion. "What are you talking about? I didn't take anything from here except Toby!"

She watched, appalled, as the avatar suddenly swept both arms across the crowd of goblins, sending them flying through the air like so much refuse in the wake of an angry wind. Its voice boomed overhead, cracking in her ears like thunder. "GIVE BACK TO US THE KING!"

Another swinging motion from that clawed hand, and she found herself lifted off her feet and hurled backwards. Her vision spun and blackened before she slammed into something soft and giving. Sarah immediately surged up, shocked to a breathless silence at finding herself in her bed with the covers twisted around her legs and the moonlight bathing the floor in a silvery glow. She sucked in huge gulps of air, tears streaming down her cheeks as the sweat poured off her body. Her hands shook so hard that it was a struggle to untangle the covers and stagger out of bed and to the bathroom. She was blinded for a moment when she flipped the light on, but only for a moment, and what she saw before her made her clasp a hand to her mouth. The mirror, clear and undamaged only hours before, hung in a fractured ruin. Spider web cracks ran its length and width, as if it had been struck from the back by the flat of a powerful hand.

Pieces lay in the lavatory, and Sarah groaned behind her hand at the sight. The shards glittered like diamonds against the porcelain, falling into tiny structured patterns that read _"Release him."_

* * *

In a crumbling redoubt, a man twisted and rolled in restless slumber, his long, pale body tense and glistening with perspiration. He dug his heels into the mattress, shredding the pillow beneath his head with strong fingers. He muttered in his sleep. "Don't listen to it, Sarah. We aren't done, you and I. Don't listen."

* * *

Please review. 


	5. Dal Riada

Disclaimer: As with all fanfiction, these characters and this universe are the property of the creators and owners of Labyrinth. I am just borrowing them for a moment. No money has been, is being or will be made with the creation and publishing of this fanfiction, nor is any harm intended to the creators. 

My sincerest thanks to all who've reviewed, encouraged and patiently waited for another chapter.

**Son of the Morning**

_The King, the wearer of a gilded chain That binds his soul to abjectness – Queen Mab (Percy Shelley)_

**Chapter 4 – Dal Riada**

"The king rules at whim, and I am the king." Jareth leaned against the sill of one tower window and stared out at the Labyrinth's vast expanse of living hedgerow and rock wall. The maze stretched to the far horizon, falling into the vanishing point beneath a turbid yellow sky. His kingdom, yet not. The Labyrinth, more ancient than countable years, had spawned him in the fading dark, blessed him with the gifts of power and near-immortal life. Had made him almost human.

_You are the heart of the world. Its fate, and yours, are bound together. Rule well. Rule wisely. _

The soul of the world should not have made the heart even remotely human.

Jareth removed his right glove, revealing a slender, ivory-skinned hand. His long fingers fluttered gently, and suddenly a crystal sphere spun in the air before him. It slowed its rotation and finally stopped. Light winked off its curved surface, twirling rainbows in colorful ribbons over his nails. Within the orb, a face both beautiful and troubled took form.

His nemesis, his adversary, the fire in the heart of the world. He had taken the wrong child and brought about the advent of his own slavery. The ties that bound him were as gossamer as spider's web and stronger than cold iron.

She had changed. The young Sarah who'd navigated the Laybrinth's twists and turns, traps and pitfalls, with a single-minded resolve to retrieve her brother, was older and far more cynical. But still as stubborn, still proud. He had no doubt she'd think nothing of throwing her words at him again, words that had shifted the Laybrinth's power and diminished its king.

Jareth smiled a wolf's smile and brought forth another sphere. This one revealed a slumbering Sarah, resting on her side in a sterile bed. A dark-haired Sleeping Beauty awaiting the life-giving kiss of a savior prince. The world Above had forgotten the original and much darker version of the story—a tale of rape and deathless sleep, of murderous jealousy and infanticide. He wondered which version Sarah would subscribe to now? The girl who had seen her Laybrinth friends through innocent, enchanted eyes would embrace the first. But this Sarah? Maybe not. Older, wiser, infinitely stronger, he fancied she'd prefer the second. He didn't care for the dull practicality that had seeped into her personality over the years, but he was fascinated by her clarity, her willingness to face a darker reality and not turn away from it.

He wanted this Sarah, craved her. The will and reign of thousands of years had made him resolute. A decade and more of maturity had made her a worthy opponent. He would win her—for himself, for the Laybrinth. He would defeat her, despite her arsenal of words and her unrealized influence on the kingdom he ruled.

Jareth caressed the surface of both spheres with his fingers, imagining it was Sarah's fair skin beneath his touch, beneath him. Yielding, accepting in body and soul. His breathing sped up with his heartbeat. Within the spheres both Sarahs turned curious gazes on him. He could see their expressions, the acceptance that they were about to engage him in combat and a promise to him it wouldn't be an easy battle.

Her voice, multiplied twice, slid across his skin. He shuddered at its touch. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because, my Sarah, I want to. It is the king's desire."

"You aren't my king."

"Ah, but in your dreams, I am your lover." He laughed as both Sarahs blushed, and the one resting supine on the bed rose to a sitting position, obviously flustered. Jareth lowered his voice, infusing it with all the coaxing magic at his disposal. "Don't you want to know what it's truly like, Sarah? How it would feel?" The blood flowed hot in his veins. His erection made his clothes distinctly uncomfortable. He was aroused by his own words, by their possibilities. "I would love you, Sarah. Possess you, mount you, make you groan your pleasure and burn your pale dreams to ash."

Both Sarahs closed their eyes against his words. She then unleashed their strongest defense against them. "You have no pow…"

Jareth snarled, and the spheres exploded into a shower of crystal that fell around his feet. His hands curled into fists. "Soon enough I will erase that particular statement from your vocabulary, Sarah, even if I have to put you on your knees to do it."

He turned away from the window and strode to the door. It was unfortunate that he was limited in his abilities in the world Above, or he'd physically march her back to the Labyrinth, likely kicking and fighting the entire way. If temptation wouldn't bring her to him and force couldn't, then blackmail might. And he had no qualms about using it.

His eyes widened when he opened the door and discovered a visitor awaited him on the other side. Jareth stepped back, giving his guest a wide berth as it glided into the room on silent feet.

"Avatar," he said by way of greeting and nodded respectfully.

The Labyrinth, dressed in robes the color of blood, nodded in return and watched him with blind, white eyes. "I bring you fair warning." Its voice was the gathering of storm winds, hollow and whistling. The curtains surrounding his bed and those at the window fluttered upward like trapped birds. "The game you play is not yours alone. The mortal woman you seek to win or conquer will be the death of us if she defeats you twice. We will not allow this to happen."

Jareth's eyes narrowed, an expression guaranteed to send every goblin in a five mile radius running for cover. The avatar's skeletal features remained unchanged. "What are you saying?"

"You are the king, the heart of the world. But we are the body and mind. Sarah from Above has bound you in ways we never considered. Bind her in return or forget her willingly."

"I am working diligently on the first. I am incapable of the second."

The avatar bowed its head briefly in acknowledgement of his will and his weakness. "Then we wish you good fortune. For your sake and hers." Dread cut a bloody line down his spine. "We won't allow her the chance to prevail, Jareth. If we see you begin to fail, we will destroy Sarah."


End file.
